After my soul-centering spree at the luxury Ojai Valley Inn & Spa — where I had a Native American card reading by a spiritual healer, awakened my creativity during a glass painting class with the artist-in-residence, awakened my sinuses during a custom blending binge with a scent guru at the apothecary, and drew a personal mandala in order to discover my self-journey — I felt fabulously one with the universe.

Even more so when I sipped the inn’s signature Pink Moment martini while watching the cosmically glorious “Pink Moment” — a daily showstopper caused when the setting sun illuminates the white-striped Topa Topa Mountains in psychedelic shades of cotton candy and peach.

It’s blissfully easy to get in touch with your inner everything at the sprawling 220-acre Ojai Valley Inn, nestled in the lush emerald valley that director Frank Capra shot to double as idyllic Shangri-La in 1937’s Oscar-winning “Lost Horizon.” Just 90 minutes from Zen-sapping L.A., the 305-room historic hideaway this year celebrates its 90th anniversary and a long tradition of providing peace and harmony to Hollywood stars. Clark Gable, Judy Garland and Jayne Mansfield all chilled out in the Spanish Colonial-styled retreat (blond bombshell Mansfield arrived on the putting green via helicopter). Bing Crosby and Bob Hope drove balls across its top-ranked golf course; so did Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy when they filmed the 1952 comedy “Pat and Mike” here.

In more recent years, “Twilight” lovebirds Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson reportedly sequestered themselves for an entire weekend (bet they weren’t balancing their chakras). And when Reese Witherspoon wed agent Jim Toth at her Ojai ranch, invitees — including Renée Zellweger and Tobey Maguire — overnighted at the five-star restful resort where instead of “Do Not Disturb,” the door hangers of guest rooms read “Seeking Serenity.”

“Ojai is a power place where the Earth’s energies are magnified,” explained Nancy Furst, the inn’s spiritual counselor, before she had me hold aloft a chunky crystal in each hand while she softly beat a drum and chanted a Native American prayer song. Just as she does with other clients, to guide me on my path, Furst had me pick from three facedown decks of Native American cards — the first turned over was the sacred feminine-honoring Moontime card. “This is a fertile time for you,” Furst quietly revealed. I gasped — not a late-in-life baby? No, she clarified, “fertile” in a broad sense.

How fitting that Ojai’s first inhabitants were Chumash Indians who regarded the valley’s rare east-west position as a sign of mystical powers. Today, the charming Ventura County town of 8,000 residents is a Sedona-ish hub of artists, writers and woo-woo, where shops have names like Love Heals and Kindred Spirit and until his recent death, “Dallas” villain Larry Hagman lived atop a mountain in the nation’s largest solar-powered home called Heaven.

Surely, nowhere can you get this enlightened at a hotel spa. The inn’s one-of-a-kind Kuyam Experience is a communal meditative mud bath guided by the recorded narration of a Native American elder and designed to detox minds and bodies of up to eight same-sex spa-goers. Apparently TV’s “Real Housewives of Beverly Hills” didn’t know Kuyam is the Chumash word for “a place to rest together.” During a recently aired episode, soon after receiving their cleansing clays in an abalone shell, the towel-clad bucks-up back-stabbers went (surprise!) ballistic, throwing ice water and wash cloths at each other (“She ruined my lashes!” Kyle yelped when her glued falsies got splashed).

OK, deep breath ...

Higher consciousness can also be obtained through more material amenities — there are tennis courts, four sparkling swimming pools (including an Herb Garden Pool near the chef’s bounty) and the divine fine-dining Maravilla along with five other eateries.

I, however, had a spiritual transformation to-do list: First up, a Personal Mandala session in the laid-back hacienda-motif Artist Cottage. “Everything in the universe is a mandala,” informed Renate Collins Hume, referring to the Sanskrit phrase for “center” and “circle.” “The point is to center ourselves to be at our point of peace.” Hume, who has a gentle aura, instructed me to “listen to myself” and draw on a piece of paper with four quadrants representing different stages of my life and my support system (she noted in the latter area, guests had sketched martinis).

After I rendered a haywire hodgepodge of happy-faced suns, hearts, dogs, stick figures, trees and Margherita pizza, Hume studied the details for colors used and significant numbers (how many petals on my flowers). “You see the world through your intuition — your heart is full of vibrant energy … You need to be on a journey to be creative, you need to have adventure.”

The next morning, in the cottage’s adjoining Apothecary, I took a Custom Blending session, which was like an olfactory orgy cloaked in a well-being tranquil vibe. Urging us to use “wisdom” and “intuitiveness,” aromatherapist Sherrie Dawkins passed 37 bottles of essential oils under our snouts — fennel, myrrh, gardenia, grapefruit, etc. — so we could rate sniffs to design our personal scent. I think I got high. Anyway, my magic potion ultimately included clary sage — Dawkins said it can be an aphrodisiac.

Later, with New Age piano music tinkling in the background, I learned the art of painting on glass back at the Artist Cottage, a “sanctuary of expression” that also offers silk scarf painting, tile painting and watercolors. “Guests find these classes so calming and relaxing,” artist-in-resident Georgia Deutsch soothingly told me, prompting my jaws to unlock as I painted a flamingo (sort of) on a vase.

The inn’s karma dates back to 1923, when wealthy glass manufacturer Edward Libbey had famous architect Wallace Neff build a country club for his private golf course. Rooms were added after Libbey died, and in 1947, Loretta Young became a co-owner, ushering in a heyday of Hollywood guests, including Lana Turner, Rita Hayworth, Walt Disney and Jimmy Stewart. Dean Martin and composer Hogey Carmichael tickled the ivories in what is now the Neff Lounge.

These days, an attention-seeking resident celebrity rules the roost. Casper is a white Australian cockatoo who shouts up a storm (“HELL-O!”) wildly dances, sings, and wolf-whistles at women. The inn welcomes four-legged friends (the gourmet doggy menu includes $12 grilled salmon), and when pooches bark at Casper in his fenced aviary, the bawdy bird goes beak-to-nose and hilariously barks back like a dog.